


Take Your Partners!

by Fontainebleau



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Dancing, Fluff, M/M, Recovering in Rose Creek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 16:44:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9333905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fontainebleau/pseuds/Fontainebleau
Summary: ‘Teach you todance?’ Goodnight’s about to burst out laughing when he registers how serious Billy’s expression is, and he rapidly schools his face to match. ‘Of course, cher, anything, but why?’





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nopholom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nopholom/gifts), [writer_rambles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writer_rambles/gifts).



> What could be more cheerful than dancing?
> 
> [This is a post-movie AU in which everyone is recovering from their injuries in Rose Creek, some faster than others; here is an episode from the much longer WIP.]

‘Teach you to _dance_?’ Goodnight’s about to burst out laughing when he registers how serious Billy’s expression is, and he rapidly schools his face to match. ‘Of course, cher, anything, but why?’

Billy already looks as though he’s regretting asking. ‘For Jack’s wedding. Sam said there’s going to be dancing.’

‘Well, yes, the whole town’s invited. If you want to…’ He stands up and holds out his arms. ‘Come on, we’ll start with a waltz.’

‘No,’ says Billy, not moving, ‘I don’t want to dance with you, Goody.’

He must look as hurt as he feels, because Billy sighs. ‘No, I mean – forget I asked, all right?’ It’s been a long winter for both of them.

Goodnight puts aside the sting of rejection and goes to lean on the back of Billy’s chair and put his hands on his shoulders. ‘What’s this about? Tell me.’

‘The kind of dancing there’ll be - you know, squares, reels, changing partners. Everyone knows how to do it.’

 _And you never learnt. Oh, Billy._ Goodnight rubs his thumbs at the base of his neck. ‘Well, that’s easily fixed. Few quick lessons and you’ll be reeling with the finest. Help me move the table.’

‘Now?’ asks Billy.

‘Yes, now. Pity we don’t have any music, but we can improvise.’

 

Once the table’s out of the way, creating a small space from the stove to the back wall, Goodnight sets Billy facing him, and says, ‘Right, square dance. Nothing to it. These are the basic moves.’ He demonstrates turns, swings, allemande, circling and dosado. Billy’s a quick learner, frowning in concentration.

‘No need to look so serious, cher,’ says Goodnight, ‘it’s not about getting it all right; there’ll be plenty flailing and tripping their way through it. It’s supposed to be fun’.

‘Fun.’ Billy gives the word his best intonation suggesting that it’s a concept he’s never encountered before.

‘Yes, people dance to enjoy themselves. Isn’t that why we’re doing this?’

‘It’s not something I – I mean, why?’

Goodnight can recognise a conversational blind alley when he sees one, but wades in regardless. ‘You can’t start asking _why_ about dancing, Billy; it’s like asking why whisky tastes good or why kissing’s worthwhile. You just have to let your feelings take over.’

Billy still looks suspicious. ‘Then why does it have to be so complicated?’

 

He’s saved from answering by a clatter at the door, Faraday and Vasquez come for their regular evening of poker. ‘Are we interrupting something?’ leers Faraday the minute he sees them standing facing each other and out of breath.

Billy scowls, but Goodnight says cheerfully, ‘Dancing.’

‘Dancing?’ asks Vasquez.

‘What we need,’ says Goodnight, ‘is music. I don’t suppose either of you plays the harmonica?’

 

It proves a vain hope, but nevertheless Goodnight determines on a demonstration. ‘Come on, Joshua, you’re my partner.’

Faraday looks up in surprise. ‘Why me?’

‘Because I suspect you’re a practised dancer, from your former days as a ladies’ man.’

Flattery works as expected: ‘Well, I do cut an impressive figure, it has been noted,’ says Faraday, slipping off his jacket. Goodnight tries manfully to stifle his smile at Billy’s thunderous expression. ‘If we can’t have music, at least we can have a rhythm? Billy, Vas, if you would?’ 

It takes a few false starts, but eventually the two of them manage to clap and stamp out a decent four-bar rhythm, and Vasquez adds some indistinct bass rumblings on top which might pass for song. Faraday and Goodnight form up and bow to each other, then link arms and swing into a reel.

Goodnight’s suspicions are proved correct: Faraday’s a natural dancer, light-footed and enthusiastic, and as they work their way through the turns and steps his point about enjoyment is illustrated by the matching grins that crack out across their faces. They end what he feels is, under the circumstances, a creditable performance with a triumphant flourish, and Goodnight smiles, ‘Why thank you, Joshua.’ Faraday doffs an imaginary hat: ‘Pleasure’s mine, Goody!’

They turn to their audience to see one delighted smirk and one stony frown. ‘See,’ says Goodnight firmly, ‘fun. Now, new partners!’

 

As a four, the rhythm is harder to keep: Vasquez, while happily co-operative, is all windmilling arms and legs while Billy’s turned awkward and unwilling, his natural grace lost as he struggles to follow the formal steps. Goodnight feels for him: unlike Vasquez who’s more than willing to see the funny side, using his heft to spin a protesting Faraday around, Billy doesn’t enjoy being shown to be inexpert. 

He and Faraday manage to guide the two novices through the first half of the set, but once they exchange partners it rapidly falls apart; they tangle and trip each other, Vasquez going down heavily, whooping with laughter, while Billy lurches into the table with a curse. As Faraday hauls Vasquez to his feet Goodnight offers a hand to form them up again, but Billy’s having none of it. ‘We’re done.’

‘Give it another try, cher,’ urges Goodnight, but Billy’s already shifting the table back to the centre of the room. ‘Forget it. Cards, that’s what we’re here for.’

 

When their guests have left and Goodnight is tidying up their glasses he offers an olive-branch: ‘We can try again tomorrow if you like, less of an audience,’ but from the other room Billy says shortly, ‘No, Goody, just leave it.’

He knows he should but still can’t stop the question rising up: ‘Why don’t you want to dance with me, Billy?’ It comes out more plaintive than he’d hoped.

Bare feet pad up behind him. ‘Dancing’s for shy courting couples.’ Goodnight turns to find Billy up close, dark-eyed and intent, pulling him in by the collar. ‘I think we’re a bit beyond that.’

 

And that seems to be the end of it; though Goodnight tentatively raises the subject once or twice, Billy point-blank refuses any further lessons with him. Over the intervening weeks, though, Goodnight gradually becomes aware of absences not fully accounted for by Billy’s regular activities. He can’t resist asking, ‘Where were you?’ each time Billy comes back unexpectedly late or vanishes for an hour or two, and the answer is always similar: walked out to the farm to check on the horses, hauling wood to help out Ms Cullen, seeing to the fencing with Vas. Such sudden interest in the workings of the Cullen farm is striking, but Goodnight reckons Billy’s entitled to a secret; he hides a smile in his book and says nothing.

 

When the Horne wedding party comes around, Goodnight also doesn’t comment on the effort Billy makes with his appearance, brushing his hat, sponging out his coat, polishing his boots, but he matches it with his own and settles a sprig of winter greenery in his lapel. It’s a clear frosty evening, and the barn is lit up by strings of lanterns, tables laden with food and a makeshift bar to one side. Jack’s friends are reassembled for the occasion, Sam and Red Harvest back from their latest trip, while Leni has conjured up an uncountable number of sisters, cousins, nieces and nephews, and the entire town has come out for the party, from the minister to the saloon-girls and from dressed-up young ladies to farmhands in their best shirts, hair slicked down. 

Two fiddlers and a jug player on a platform provide the music. When the caller announces ‘Take your partners for the Virginia Reel!’ Billy’s on his feet immediately. ‘Come on,’ he orders, and Goodnight follows him meekly to where the sets are forming up. Billy raises his hat to Mrs Lynch and invites her to partner him; Goodnight offers his hand to a giggling young woman and they take their places in a square with Dr Lynch, Miss White and a pair of miners. As the music starts Goodnight bows to his partner and steps through the familiar motions, trying not to be distracted by his concern.

His fears are groundless: Billy’s step-perfect, each move executed with precision and grace, never missing a turn of hand or an exchange of partners, moving through the measure with feline poise. Goodnight can’t fault his performance, but judging by Mrs Lynch’s expression, he’s not alone in finding Billy’s fierce scowl of concentration rather unnerving. He’s as distant and formal as if he’s at a presidential ball, and no attempts at pleasantries can make him crack a smile.

After a few dances Goodnight, still feeling the effects of his injuries, has to sit out, but Billy’s tireless: _Fisher’s Hornpipe, Grapevine Twist, Root Hog or Die_ , he dances them all. Unsurprisingly once his skill is noticed he proves popular with the young ladies of the town, and he has a queue of willing partners; Goodnight would be jealous if he thought for a moment that Billy might reciprocate their interest, but he dances with each of them as stiff as a hayrake, with the air of a man performing a necessary but unrewarding duty. 

Waiting at the bar, he finds himself next to Sam and slaps him on the back. ‘Looking good, Sam.’

Sam seems content to let their argument alone. ‘You too, Goody. What’s got into Billy? Never took him for such a dedicated dancer.’

‘Seems to be important to him,’ says Goodnight, ‘and you’ve got to admit he’s accomplished.’

‘You ought to get out there too.’

‘Says the man propping up the bar. Why not give some of the widows a fresh partner? Seems to have worked for Jack.’ Bride and groom can indeed be seen in among the dancers, Leni neat and quick, Horne lumbering like a goodnatured bear.

‘Can’t argue with that,’ says Sam. ‘You should go and show Billy how it’s really done.’

‘In good time,’ says Goodnight, ‘I have a little information to find out first.’ 

 

He arms himself with two glasses and takes them over to where Emma Cullen is sitting alone. ‘Fine occasion, Miz Cullen. Are sure you should be sitting out? I think Sam might be amenable.’

She laughs, ‘I’ve had my toes stamped on enough for one night.’

‘Seems a shame to waste the practice I believe you’ve been getting recently.’

‘Ah,’ says Emma, ‘he told me not to tell you.’

‘He can be persuasive,’ says Goodnight, ‘I can attest to that. You’re plainly an excellent tutor.’

‘Still doesn’t look like he’s enjoying it much, though. I just couldn’t seem to get that idea over to him at all.’

Goodnight chuckles. ‘Ah yes. I’d be jealous if you’d managed to teach him that.’ The contrast between Billy’s public persona and the private man only he sees is one of his most cherished secrets.

He pauses to watch for a moment as Billy deftly changes partners, flushed from exertion, tiny crease of concentration between his brows, strands of hair fallen loose from their knot. Emma says quietly beside him, ‘Your heart is in your face, you know.’

Goodnight says suddenly, ‘Miz Cullen, would you do me a favour? Could you stand up to dance the final set with Billy?’

‘Certainly, but why?’

Goodnight winks. ‘Just get him in line and leave it to me.’

 

When the caller announces the final reel, Goodnight watches as Emma briskly shoos away a gaggle of girls and takes Billy’s arm to draw him into formation; he idles closer, setting his glass down on a table. As the music starts and the couples bow he taps Emma lightly on the shoulder; she slips away with a mischievous grin, and he insinuates himself neatly into her place, grinning as Billy straightens up to find them face to face. He takes his hands and swings him into the dance. ‘Miss me?’

Billy says, ‘You’re ridiculous.’

'Don’t I know it,’ says Goodnight, but he’s rewarded with Billy’s first genuine smile of the evening. The distraction makes his steps falter and he begins to frown again, but as Goodnight links his arm and encourages him, ‘Promenade, cher!’ his seriousness dissolves. Goodnight whisks him through the reel with his best gentlemanly flourish, and Billy’s suddenly all bubbling mirth. Ridiculous or not, he’s finally enjoying himself, murmuring teasing comments, lips twitching into a smile every time the dance brings them together. At the end of the measure Goodnight deliberately ignores the cue to change partners and keeps tight hold of Billy’s hands to swing him away, leaving the other dancers in laughing chaos behind them. 

Goodnight draws him away from the square dance to a less crowded spot, and as the music slows to a waltz he can’t bring himself to let go. Instead he slides an arm round Billy’s waist before he can protest. ‘I know you said you don’t want to…’ he begins, but he feels an answering arm around him as Billy pulls him close with the emotion that’s been missing all evening.

The barn is full of dancing couples, old, young, married couples, courting sweethearts, grandfathers with granddaughters, bar girls dancing together; Goodnight lets his cheek graze Billy’s as he melts into him, the world contracting down to the music and the touch and scent of his partner. He closes his eyes, heart full of this extraordinary man who has somehow ended up here with him. It was so nearly lost: he could ask for nothing more.

He feels the lightest brush of lips on his face, and Billy murmurs in his ear, ‘You know, I think I’m beginning to understand the _why_ of dancing.’

Goodnight leans back to smile into his eyes, and says, ‘Maybe I forgot to say: what it really depends on is who you’re dancing with.’


End file.
